Picking up the pieces
by Little-Firestar84
Summary: "He knew she loved him and was ready to do everything, anything for him, and he wnated to do the same for her. But he couldn't, not when he wasn't whole again yet." Written for Lothiriel84 in the Paint It Red 2012 Gift Exchange.


**Title:**Picking up the pieces  
**Author:**Little_firestar84  
**Rating:** T (on the safe side)  
**Characters: **Patrick Jane, Teresa Lisbon  
**Summary:** "He knew she loved him and was ready to do everything, anything for him, and he wnated to do the same for her. But he couldn't, not when he wasn't whole again yet.  
**Disclaimer:** Uhm. well, my father is called Bruno, but since it's Negro and not Heller, I'd say that I don't own the rights to the Mentalist.  
**Notes:** Written for Lothiriel84 in the Paint It Red 2012 Gift Exchange; betaed by Tromana- love you girl, you've been my personal mean to cheering up altely, along with Rothelena!

* * *

_"All I want is the comfort and care just to know that my woman gives me sweet mother love" (Mother Love, Queen)_

When everything was done and dealt with, she simply knew she was going to be the one there to pick up the pieces of his soul. His crazy hunt for vengeance had turned him into the shell of a man and somebody needed to put him back together again.

She didn't bother to ask him for permission first. When she left the hospital, instead of dropping him by his motel, she drove him to her home. She knew too well that the rumors, once again, were bound to awake with a passion, but she couldn't care any less, that was who she was, after all. The only thing, the only person she cared about at this moment in time was the man called Patrick Jane. His opinion on the matter, up to a certain point was all that counted, and Jane…. he didn't seem too contrary of being taken care of for once.

It wasn't particularly romantic, but when she helped him to bed and their eyes met as he held her hands, she knew. She understood that he needed her, this incredible, handsome, insufferable, childish man that she had fallen head over heels in love with. No matter what, she was going to be there to help pick up his pieces.

She was going to be there for him because that was who she was and it was what friends did. Jane was her best friend and she was sure the feeling was reciprocated. Besides, she was Mother Teresa.

* * *

_"Outside the dawn is breaking but inside in the dark I'm aching to be free" (The Show Must Go On, Queen)_

She loved him, loved him with the passion of a woman who wanted to spent the rest of her life with a man, and he was well aware of it. He had been for quite a while, maybe even longer than she did.  
He wanted to love her too, and the thing was he knew he could, but something was holding him back.

He never told her that he didn't feel whole, never told her that he needed to leave, never said that he was sorry because deep down he knew. If he had spoken with her, he would have stayed, and then they would have resented each other eventually. Had they talked, he would have taken her in his arms and never left her bed. But he couldn't speak and couldn't stay. Not yet, because he needed to be whole before he did that.

She had done her best, everything she could have done and more actually. But now, it was up to him. The last effort was his and his alone. Then, he would have been worthy of her.

He was almost there, though. He knew he could take just that next step. It was the only way to have her without regrets or the second guessing.

* * *

She wasn't disappointed when she woke up and he was gone. She wasn't angry that he hadn't bothered with the small talk and sorry excuses. Actually, she was kind of relieved; after all, this had been a long time coming for Jane. As much as she had tried to help put him back together, there was still work to be done. At that point, it was up to Jane alone. Sure, she had put everything back in place, where it belonged, but the glue was something she couldn't provide.

Truth to be told, it was good he was working on it, even if it meant he wasn't going to be around her any longer. Besides, his note told her everything she had ever needed to know. It gave her hope, awakening a deep smile and a deep blush.

_Wait._

It was just the one word, but to her and Jane, it meant the world. It meant promises of things to come and that, yet again, she was allowed to dream once more. All she had to do was wait for him. She knew Jane, and whenever he had made her a promise in the past, he had always kept it.

He wasn't going to change now.

* * *

She wondered if he knew just how much good he was doing now.

Over the next twelve months, postcards and letters arrived at her doorstep. They described where he was and what he was doing there. She wasn't surprised by the contents; she had always told him that he was a good man deep down. Only thing was, he never believed her.

He spent a few weeks doing magic tricks to entertain children in hospital on the East Coast. Soon after, he sent a donation for population hit by an earthquake in Italy. Then, he spent a few months in a village in North Africa to help building a school and a small hospital. He gave a grant, dedicated to Charlotte Anne and Angela Jane, to the local university of the city where his daughter was born.

Jane had given away almost everything, even the house in Malibu (for half its price) and the vintage car collection (minus the Citroen which was safely parked into her garage, waiting for his return). Every now and then, he thought of the team during his peregrination. Rigsby received unusual toys to help stimulate his son's mind. Old, rare and original books made their way to Cho on a semi-regular basis. Van Pelt was thrilled with the vintage European dresses he'd bought her. As for herself, there were small things, snow globes, stamps, pictures, small statues, trinkets. Mostly, it was the letters and postcards, which she kept safe in the bottom of her wardrobe. They were held together by a ribbon of that ivory color he liked so much on her. The smell of lavender lingered around them from a bottle of perfume which he had chosen for her in the south of France.

He had given her the smallest things of them all, and yet they were the most important. She wondered if he knew he was more than enough for her, that she couldn't wait to see him again. Nevertheless, she was still patiently waiting for him to return on his own accord.

Mostly, she wondered if he had known, when he had written her, how she was going to react to just a couple of his sentences.

_Despite everything, I now know that my life can be beautiful again. I guess it already is - and was. I should have understood it sooner. _

She didn't need to wonder what he meant, she knew it too well. He finally felt whole once again, and he was ready to return soon.

To her.

* * *

_"But touch my tears with your lips, touch my world with your fingertips" (Who Wants to Live Forever, Queen)_

Christmas Eve, and she wondered what he had planned for her. The rest of the team had already received a large amount of gifts via airmail, while he hadn't even sent her a card. Knowing him, he was probably going to get something delivered to her on Christmas morning, just to make sure she couldn't peek inside. Sometimes, he knew her so well that she wanted to roll her eyes.

Even though it was Christmas Eve, she had still been at work all day. So, she didn't indulge in anything particular, preferring the everyday routine. She threw her jacket on the first chair at hand, keys on the mahogany desk, and left her shoes in the middle of the room. It was winter, and even though it was chilly outside, her apartment was warm, her clothes were dirty with mud and blood (not hers) and she was so damn tired. She removed her clothes as she went and entered in the kitchen with just her underwear on.

"A striptease for Christmas? Really, Lisbon, it's nice, but you didn't have to. I mean, not that I haven't pictured you naked before, but, well, this isn't how I pictured our first time to be…"

She froze in her kitchen's doorframe. Slowly, with eyes wide open and blushing of a deep red, she turned, and saw him casually sitting on her couch. He was wearing a kilt shirt in red and green, old jeans and trekking shoes. His hair was longer and definitely in desperate need of combing and the beard was a clear indication that he hadn't had access to a razor in quite a while. Despite the causal and unusual attire, he looked well rested, free and even happy.

He smiled at her, an honest, real smile that reached his eyes. Although she was semi-naked, she ran to him, crying her heart out. These were the tears she hadn't cried in the last one year, five months, two weeks, four days nineteen hours and four minutes…

She cried, and as he stood, she fell into his strong, welcoming and warm embrace. He held her like it was second nature, and kissed all her tears away before kissing her lips and stroking the tender skin of her back with his fingertips.

The world exploded and then he was reborn. He had returned to life, and in that instant, he knew he was home.


End file.
